


shivering from the cold (i never could hear you, anyways)

by LittleMissSketch



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Loneliness, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissSketch/pseuds/LittleMissSketch
Summary: Jack spent three hundred years alone, is he okay? No.





	shivering from the cold (i never could hear you, anyways)

**Author's Note:**

> wow what is this mess of a fic, its so bad. enjoy my pain.

Jack Frost was cold.

Not… _cold,_ per se. He didn’t shake, or shiver. His skin didn’t pale (not like it _could_ get any paler), and he could still feel his fingers!

As he let out air, no steam showed in the air.

_But it should’ve._

Was he even alive? If his own _body_ couldn’t show the signs of being alive, then was he?

* * *

 

Jack Frost had never felt so alone.

He had spent the day spreading winter and fun, though none of that happiness ever spread to _him._

_The spreader of happiness never felt happiness._

_How ironic._

* * *

 

Jack Frost, the bringer of winter, felt numb.

It didn’t matter anymore, making people happy. No matter how hard he tried, people would still be sad, it was only delayed by him.

He didn’t matter.

Why had he even thought so in the first place? Anyone could do his job. Spreading winter was easy, just make it snow and your job is done!

He laid on a glacier, overlooking the void of white that was Antarctica.

He sighed, his body just as cold as the Antarctic chills.

He closed his eyes; it didn’t matter if he didn’t do his job tonight, anyways.

* * *

 

Jack Frost hadn’t been touched in more than a century.

When Bunnymund punched him, he hadn’t been ready.

Then, he had paused—stunned at being touched by another being—and Bunnymund had yelled at him.

He couldn’t remember what he had said, only that vague surprise and astonishment that _the Easter Bunny touched me. The Easter Bunny touched me and it was a punch._

He looked up, but Bunnymund had left.

* * *

 

Jack laughed, clawing at the snow beneath him as all of his pent-up emotions crashed into one another.

He was a mess.

It had only been a second, maybe even less than that!

But it had reminded him of times forcefully forgotten.

_(Hands on young girls’ shoulders, guiding them.)_

_(Young boys ramming into each other to catch a ball.)_

_(Young girls and boys hiding around a corner, embraced and deep in one another’s mouths.)_

_(Santa riding high above him, delivering presents to all of the good boys and girls of the world.)_

_(Was he not good enough for presents?)_

_(No, he’d never been good enough to be noticed, anyway.)_

Jack cried.

* * *

 

Tears broke from their restraints, rolling down onto the snow covered ground.

They froze onto the spirit’s face within seconds of being exposed to the wind and snow around Jack.

His chest rose and fell, as his sobs increased in pace, so too did his breathing.

Ice shards prickled over his skin as his tears froze on his skin. He could wipe them off easily, but that took too much effort. He would much rather do it later.

* * *

 

The Guardians thought he, _Jack Frost; the Winter-Bringer,_ would be a good Guardian. They must be joking.

No one would ever think him worthy of such an important role.

Bunnymund sure didn’t.

* * *

 

_Sandy—happy, silent, comforter Sandy—was dead, and it was all Jack’s fault._

* * *

 

Pitch aimed the arrow made of darkness at the being of pure light and happiness in front of him.

_Nonononono—_

Sandy didn’t see him.

_He can’t—_

He flew fasterfasterfaster—

He wasn’t fast enough.

_The arrow pierced Sandy’s back._

_He turned around too late._

* * *

 

It started as a small black dot on his chest.

_“Don’t fight the fear, little man!”_

It spread quickly, taking over the hopes and dreams spanning over Sandy’s body steadily and quickly.

Pitch smirked, triumphant. _“... I’d say sweet dreams, but there aren’t any left!”_

Sandy turned to darkness.

* * *

 

It was all his fault.

* * *

 

Jack had delivered the little girl to safety, and was gearing to go home.

_“Jack!”_

… Why did he recognize that voice?

_“Jack!”_

… He needed to know who it was.

He followed the voice.

* * *

 

He was in Pitch’s lair.

There were so many memories, _but which was calling for him?_

 _“Looking for something?”_ Pitch.

Why was he _here?_ Was he setting off the sound?

* * *

 

It turned out, he was.

He offered him his memories, but he’d never agree to do anything Pitch wanted.

He didn’t ask for anything.

* * *

 

The Easter eggs were crushed.

_Oh god._

It was his fault.

* * *

 

_“Oh, Jack. What have you done?”_

He hadn’t _done_ anything! Pitch had just given him the memories, why did they think he had done something?

“That _is why you weren’t here? You were with_ Pitch?”

Yes? Technically true, but how could he defend against them?

_“He has to go.”_

… What? No—they were his _friends_ now, they couldn’t abandon him back to that wasteland of never being heard or spoken to!

_“We never should have trusted you!”_

Ouch. That hurt… a lot.

Bunnymund put up a fist, like he was about to punch him.

_He almost wished he had; then it would’ve been easier to justify the pain he felt._

* * *

 

Jack flew back to Antarctica, it was his home away from his pond.

He landed on an overpass, icy water below him. His mind went back to the age-old question.

_Can a spirit die?_

He hadn’t had the nerve to test it before.

Now, with the pain of friendships and connection he’d never had before being ripped from him; he had the pure nerve for such an act.

He stood, and stepped off the edge.

* * *

 

Jack Frost was acting… odd.

Pitch Black hadn’t expected him _in general._ But he had seemed _happy_ before, but now? Now his eyes had no spark behind them and he was falling to his death.

_He couldn’t have that._

His nightmare sand caught the winter sprite.

The King of Nightmares forced Jack next to him, he couldn’t have him pulling that trick again.

 _“What do you_ want?” He growled, finally a spark was in his eyes again.

_He never wanted to see him lose it again if this was his fallback plan._

* * *

 

He couldn’t convince Jack to join him, sadly.

But he _had_ gotten the suicidal idiot to get his mind off his friends’ rejections.

Maybe he’d see if—after he won, of course—he could become Jack’s friend. Get him to stop being so suicidal, at least.

* * *

 

Jack Frost stopped Pitch Black from taking over the world, and brought Sandy back to life.

Although, he still didn’t feel _complete._

* * *

 

 _“Jack,”_ Pitch purred. Jack had decided to visit him in his lair; though whether that was a good idea or not was to be decided at a later point in time.

Pitch smirked as he bantered with Jack.

* * *

 

Months later, Jack decided, _Yeah, that was a good decision._


End file.
